Behind the mask
by Cadaver Carnivorum
Summary: Evey saw V without his mask by accident... If you want to know what resulted from this, read the whole story.


Evey awoke at night from a vague nightmare. She found herself rolled up in the speechless numbness one often has after seeing bad dreams. They were a consequence of nervous shocks she had suffered recently. In particular, seeing several people die could not leave her psychic unaffected.

Another consequence of the nightmare was her parched throat. Evey felt a sharp, poignant thirst. She tossed and turned for a while in a vain attempt to go back to sleep, but gave up soon. The girl unwillingly crawled out of the warm bed, put her legs into soft slippers, and, although she was wearing a pajamas, slipped on a nightgown neatly hanging by the side of the bed. After all, she was a quest and found it indecent to catch the host's eye in nothing but her pajamas.

So, Evey headed to the kitchen. She had already stayed in the Gallery for a couple of days and had memorized the layout of the rooms. She treaded as lightly as she could, holding her breath and listening keenly - although she still wasn't able to hear V coming, and his sudden appearances always made her nervous. Now Evey wasn't eager to bump into him in such a way, since the recent nightmare still seized her chest with a disturbing sense of uneasiness. And she peered fixedly into every corner, into the shadows of every sculpture - and, trying to repel her fears, laughed at them like an adult laughs at a fancy of a fearful child who is looking for a hiding beast and is afraid to find it.

V was sitting in the kitchen, eating something and absorbed in a book. Probably that is why he failed to notice Evey approaching on time and to put on the mask, which was lying on the table.

Evey froze at the threshold, her visage sickly pale, with eyes wide open and full of terror. Although in a flash the mask was in place, the face she had observed for a mere moment still loomed in front of her eyes. Once it was a beautiful, fine, aristocratic face. Now the skin on it was of a dirty reddish color, speckled with hideous cicatrized burn scabs. These eyes could once shine with sky azure. Now there were no eyes, instead of them under the bare eye arches one could distinguish hardly noticeable bulges - the scorched whites of his eyes, covered forever with burnt eyelids.

V was sitting in profile and did not turn his head, didn't even move his lifeless eye before putting the mask back on - and at the same time Evey felt his straight, piercing stare on her. This gave her an especially terrifying impression.

I-i'm s-sorry... - she gasped after a minute's stupor. Her chest was still seized by pressing cold, she felt a splinter of ice inside.

- It is me who should give excuses. - V tried to utter that as calmly as he could, as if nothing happened, but a faint note of embarrassment crept into his voice.

Evey backed away slowly. Having moved away a few paces in this manner, she turned around and went back with an unsteady pace. Having forgotten about the thirst, she desperately tried to recall what V's face reminded her of. That terrifying image, dwelling in her subconsciousness as a dim recollection. An image from some horror movie, that Evey had seen when she was a child and couldn't sleep for a few nights after that. And again, all the rest of that night she could not sleep. Because, at last, she managed to recall the name - Freddy Krueger.

Evey left at dawn. She did not tell why - she just confessed that she could not stay in the Gallery any more "on personal reasons". But V guessed what these reasons were since he could feel the acerbic breathing of her fear.

V sank into an elegant armchair with carved legs in form of paws. On the surface he was calm, as usual, but his soul was burnt worse than his body once was. His super sensitivity covered not only his hearing, smell and his mystically working sight, but also pain - spiritual as well as bodily. And while it was easy to suppress the bodily one with his will, the spiritual - this terrible feeling of bitterness, emptiness and infinite loneliness - had to be endured as inevitable retribution.

He had treated Evey like a gardener treats his most beautiful, most tender rose. With gentle curiosity he studied such a new, uncommon flower - a human soul - and received evidence that it needed a far more delicate treatment and pleases the eye with immeasurably greater beauty than roses do.

He found this timid bud growing on the viceful wasteland of the city. He cut the foul weeds, which were strangling the innocent creature, with a chastised blade. He carefully transplanted it into the fertile soil of his agreeable garden, watered it with care and attention, illuminated with the light of the magnificent works of art. And hadn't the shy bud started to stretch its iridescent petals, the careless gardener injured it! And all the efforts turned to be in vain, this flower would never bloom for him...

V covered himself with his cloak and tried to sleep, but he was still consumed with sorrowful thoughts. He himself could hardly remember his face - at least he tried not to recall it and did not look in the mirror since the view hurt his aesthetic feelings. But Evey's reaction had convinced him that he still was repulsive. And now the burden of this curse seemed much heavier to him.

He would catch himself at a consoling thought that his children would be a perfection of strength and beauty, just like the antique gods. But he instantly waved these absurd visions away and made himself look into the eyes of the sad truth: the lower half of his body had been particularly severely harmed when he was going through the fire, and would entice no woman.

Nevertheless, the suffering of his soul brought him a bit of delight. The made him akin to the heroes of romantic works - the proud, solitary, ever-suffering fighters against the unfair world, who invariably seek a fatal dénouement. It's true, that neither heroes no geniuses can find a place in life - it is only after their death that they gain recognition.

* * *

_It may sound odd, but this story is a crusade for V's honor against all the dirty vulgarity or romantic goo in the stories some people write. I based it on movie facts and used my logics to make it as realistic as I could. I confess the part about Freddy Krueger is a grim joke so I'm waiting for some rotten tomatoes. I hope for big ones because I'm hungry : )_


End file.
